Kidnapped
by Readin-and-Writin
Summary: What happens when G Callen is kidnapped? Along with a top CIA agent? Will the captor get the better of them, or will they survive? . NOTICE I have updated all my chapters into better versions, you dont have to re-read to understand it though.
1. prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS Los Angeles or any of its characters. This goes for all the chapters**

**Prologue **

The ten agents all lay slumped on the floor, drugged, hands and feet cuffed. They were laid out in a semi-circle, all an equal distance from each other. Five of them were men, five of them women. They were all very, very, good at their jobs. Yet they had all gotten captured. On one end of the semi-circle was a man with light brown hair and blue eyes, which were currently closed. The kind of man who women always develop a crush on. On the other end was a woman. Her hair was a light brown, naturally streaked with gold and chestnut red. Her eyes were a light, clear grey. She had a perfect heart shaped face. She was very attractive. The man watching in the shadows thought all of this whilst keeping his face a detached, unaffected front. She was attractive; it tended to help in her profession, nothing else about it.

The man continued to look at all his other prisoners, but mostly concentrating on the two people on the end. They were the most important. They were the best. And he would break them. "Breaking" people, it was always so exaggerated. All the storybook heroes were said to be un-breakable. This man knew that that was all a lie; pain and fear were powerful motivators. He had yet to meet a person he could not break. A quick set of footsteps appeared, and the man turned slightly to face them.

"Doctor" The man greeted the psychologist hurrying towards him, his tone cold and impersonal.

"Oh, I see that you have got all of them. Yes, Yes… and the ten civilians? Ah-yes. Rather a pity, to waste their lives. But I did make sure to choose people who did not have much to live for, no friends, family."

The captor snorted: "You chose them because no-one would miss them, not because you wanted to make this less of a tragedy."

"Well, yes, I suppose, anyway, eh, they should all be waking up soon." The psychologist stammered.

The captor nodded once again, then took his gun out and shot the psychologist. He had been useful in planning this. Now he was simply a liability, and of no use to him.

The captor relaxed for a second, a look of pride crossing his masked face. He had been planning this for months. Hacking into intelligence agencies servers was no easy task. Capturing the agents was no easy task. He knew that none of his men would be able to last long against these agents, but one of them couldn't withstand ten of his men armed with syringes or tranquilizer guns, hiding near their homes. He looked around the building, an old jailhouse. He had bribed and blackmailed people into letting him use it for ten days. He had added re-enforcements to the building, making it one great big metal trap. The whole place was dark, musty, and cold. Huge shadows covered the walls. There was an indefinable scent of sweat, blood, and fear in the air. It was enough to send your heartbeat racing, instincts screaming.

Ten days. He had a fascination with the number ten. It had been his tenth birthday, in October, at ten o clock when an American bomb killed his Libyan parents. All ten's. It was the moment his life had changed. The reason for his hate of America.


	2. Chapter 2

_Callen P.O.V._

Callen looked around, his head throbbing. Where the hell was he? He remembered the car crash on his way home…

He had been driving home after a long case, shoulders slumped, one hand steering the wheel. As he parked near his house, a truck suddenly came bursting out of a small road, driving at high speed. With a glass shattering, door buckling crash, the truck plowed into his car. Callen was thrown left hard, but managed to sit up quickly with a slightly dazed look in his eyes. He managed to get up quickly and escaped into his house. He counted 5 men follow him, and 5 stay outside. Knowing he would be cornered if he ran any further into the house, Callen quickly spun around and sent a strong kick towards his first pursuer. The man ducked and they engaged in some furious hand-to-hand combat before the man went down. Callen turned around to face the next pursuer, but a tranquilizer dart hit him in the leg before he could do anything. He fell forward, unconscious before he even hit the floor…

Callen noticed the other people in the room, and felt slightly reassured than none of them were his teammates. He seemed to be the first one awake, though others were also stirring. He stayed still, not wanting to alert his kidnapper to the fact that he was awake. Callen had been captured before, but this was strange. The position he was in was strange. The fact that there were so many other people that he did not know there was strange. Still, it seemed like the only thing he could do for now was wait.

_Isabella P.O.V._

"Hello, everybody." A man dressed in black appeared. Nobody reacted. The man chuckled.

"Oh, I know you're all awake, no need to keep pretending."

Isabella sighed resignedly and opened her eyes. She still couldn't believe she had gotten captured; she was a top agent at the CIA for god's sake. True, it had been her against ten men, but still. And even worse, she had no idea what was going on. She had no idea where she was, and no idea who these other people were. She did notice the people who were creating a semi-circle with her all looked fit, tough, strong. And the ten in the middle looked…normal.

"Now, I expect you're all quite confused the man continued. Let me explain. Except for the ten civilians in the middle, the rest of you are all top agents. Plus, you all know something, or some thing**s **that I would like very much to know. And now, you might think that you will always be brave and strong and stand up for your country, but let me tell you, the tools fear and pain have aided me so that I have yet to met a man I could not take information from. Now introductions. I am the captor. Civilian 1, 2, 3, 4. G Callen, NCIS. Isabella Knight, CIA…"

Isabella stiffened as she listened to the introductions. The man hadn't been lying; everyone here was someone she had heard numerous stories about. Very very impressive stories.

Suddenly, the sounds of machine guns rang out. A second later the ten civilians were dead. Isabella stared, shocked. The guns had appeared from the wall, and then had melted straight back into it. She couldn't believe it. Sure, she saw death everyday in her line of work, but seldom was it done so very emotionlessly. It was sickening.

"Consider that a warning to behave." The man said quite mildly. "Now, I seem to have a shortage of independent cells to keep you in, so you shall be sharing. Let's pair you up.

About ten minuets later, Isabella was sitting together in a tiny cell with Callen. The size of the cell was about the size of a single person bed. There was a TV screen covering the whole ceiling. Isabella was glad to notice that there was no video camera in here-hopefully it meant that her team would not be forced to watch any of this. The silence was getting slightly awkward when Callen decided to break it with:

"Considering this is a kidnapping, we seem to have been comparatively well taken care of so far."

Isabella looked at him incredulously. She could hear the slight sarcasm in his tone, but realized that he was right. The captives had been killed-but the ten agents all seemed to be in good condition. Still, the captor had talked about all their torturing rather like it would be happening soon.

"I'm pretty sure that that will change soon," Isabella said.

"My partner says that _I'm_ pessimistic." Callen quipped with a smile,

Isabella smiled back. She understood banter; it was something that helped keep people sane in crazy situations. It was lighthearted; it didn't require any deep emotion sharing in-between two people. She definitely was not one to ever engage in any deep emotional conversations.

_Callen P.O.V._

Callen found himself feeling quite impressed by Agent Knight. He had heard the stories about her, and he also knew that it took a good agent to keep calm in such dire situations. Callen thought about how strange it was that there were no camera's recording their every move in the cell.

All of a sudden, the TV screen above them flickered to life. It showed a man handcuffed to a beam on the ceiling. The captor was beating the man. Callen saw the agent fighting to keep quiet, but the captor just continued until the agent let out a horrible groan and begged for the captor to stop. At that point, the captor stopped and the screen went black. Callen understood all this.

Callen felt horror rising up in him. He didn't know these agents personally, but such acts should not be committed on any living person. Who was this captor and why was he doing things like this? What was his motive? This is why I do my job, he thought. So that guys like this go to jail. _But there's nothing I can do now. Right now I'm the victim._ The thought repulsed, and frightened him. It made him want to do anything to escape the torture. His fear was starting to take control and it was exactly what the captor was trying to achieve by making them watch the videos. Not long after the first agents groan and the screen going black, the screen lighted up again, this time with another agent. He remembered talking about her in OSP with Sam and Kensi the other day, discussing her feats in the US. She had managed to single- handedly bring down a bunch of guys with dangerous missiles. Her name was Sarah Wong. She worked for the FBI. It had been a humorous conversation between teammates, full of admiration for this spectacular agent. He had never thought that he would meet her, especially under such disastrous circumstances. Another face flashed up onto the screen.

"I worked with him once." A voice interrupted Callen's thoughts. "Andrew Maxwell, DEA. It was a joint task force. Whole bunch of people wanted to blow up a place. You probably know him as the guy who is currently on screen for our entertainment." Isabella said with a sarcastic laugh. "He's a good agent, a great agent. He did most of the work that day, going undercover, getting us all the evidence we needed against the bad guys." "You ever work with anybody here?"

"NCIS Los Angeles's work doesn't cross over much with other agencies." Callen replied. It was a half-truth. He had never worked with the other agents during his time at NCIS, but he had met some of them briefly before when he was with other agencies.

Isabella nodded, then went back to staring at the screen. She remembered how confident the agent had been the day of the mission. Now he was reduced to a shaking wreck. Her hate for the captor mounted up.

And so it continued, one agent by one agent, all beaten quite badly, all eventually screaming or groaning in pain. Name after name flashed through Callen's mind as he remembered things he knew about each of these people. Callen knew that it would be either him or Agent Knight next. The captor had not demanded any information from them. He was smart; he knew that these agents would not give information away easily. He was content to win small battles for now. He glanced over at Agent Knight and noticed that she was sitting in a position that was neither too tense nor too casual, a position that gave nothing away.

At this moment, their captor appeared. He picked Callen up from the handcuffs and dragged him from the room. When they arrived at what Callen called the torture chamber in his head, the captor handcuffed Callen to the wall, his wrists locked together above his head. He felt a familiar rush of adrenaline as his heart rate sped up, his body tensed and everything around him seemed to begin to slow down. As Callen's shirt was torn away from him, he was pretty sure that he knew what was coming. Sure enough, a whip lashed into his back, tearing his skin. Callen stifled a groan as he steeled himself for the upcoming ordeal.

_Isabella P.O.V_

Now that she was alone Isabella couldn't stop a small gasp as she saw Callen chained to the wall with a whip lying besides him, ready for the captor to use. She could see that new items had been bought into the room. Items used for drowning, electrocuting, whipping. Items used to cause much more pain than bare fists. But why? Why was Callen being treated differently from the others? She had to admit that out of the ten agents, she and Callen were probably the two best ones, the ones most unlikely to break. She disliked the thought, as she disliked any form of bragging. But there had to be a reason why whipping had been bought into the equation. Also, would she also be getting this "special treatment?" She might have had countless hours of training, but they hadn't taught her not to fear. Fear could keep you alive and fighting, but it could also destroy you. A crazed fear entered her mind and body, stripped away her control, making only thoughts centered on keeping herself alive. She couldn't die. She didn't _want _to die. She wished that she had something she could break the TV screen with. Torture was bad enough, but having to watch it happen to other people too? That just made it so many times worse. She hoped that her team was finding out who he was, and would come storming in here soon, shooting him straight in the heart.

The thought disappeared from her mind as she saw the captor rip off Callen's shirt. He looked good without a shirt…Isabella immediately kicked herself? Where on earth had that thought come from? This was hardly the time or place, and besides, she was never so unprofessional. Just then, the whipping started. Isabella watched on. After the tenth lash, the captor finally stopped. Callen had not let out a single sound or movement. She allowed herself to feel impressed and also relieved that the captor had not kept going until Callen reacted. Still, Callen was already by far hurt worst that any of the other ten. So far.

The captor threw Callen in roughly, not bothering to cuff him again, obviously knowing that Callen would not have the strength to resist or escape after the whipping. Isabella was dragged out of the cell and into another room. A tub of water lay there, and Isabella felt her fear rise tenfold. Different memories fought for dominance in her mind. _No…not drowning._ The captor wasted no time, pushing her head under a tub of water. When Isabella's lungs were at the point where she felt like they would burst, the captor pulled her up and shocked her. The shock caused more pain, but the drowning was much more traumatic. Her natural flight or fight instincts began to take in as adrenaline surged through her. Drown, shock. This went on for ten times. Adrenaline war really more of a hindrance than help; extra energy was of no use when what you really needed was to calm down and stay still. Drown, shock, drown, and shock. Isabella fought down the terror rising in her. This definitely counted as the "special" treatment, it was much worse than simply getting beaten up. She got hauled back into her cell. As soon as the door closed, she began humming a little melody to herself. It was a familiar tune that she used to hum every time after she nearly drowned as a kid…it was soothing, and calmed her.

A minuet later, the captor re-opened the door, threw a medical kit in, and then said to the two of them: "Clean each other up."

**Next chapter: Meanwhile back at OSP…**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS Los Angeles or any of its characters.**

**Thank you so, so much to SilverSentinal21. Believe me, this story would be so much worse off without you. Your help was invaluable. **

The NCIS Los Angeles office was in organized chaos. They were all in a state of controlled panic. Eric and Nell were rushing around from computer to computer, trying to access traffic cams, hacking into systems, doing whatever they could to find Callen. Deeks was in a loud and fiery phone conversation with the LAPD. Kensi and Sam were going through piles of documents with tense faces, hoping that they could find something that could help. Hetty was on the phone with the director, actually having to shout to make herself heard over all the noise. Sam suddenly slammed a pile of papers down and swore.

"How did this even happen?" He yelled at no one in particular. "We've searched the house for hours and haven't found a single clue. I've known G for five years no way he would have given himself up until he got knocked out. But there's no DNA, or fingerprints, except G's Nobody can do that thorough a cleanup job without taking a lot of people and a lot of time."

They had revisited Callen's house and had found a USB drive there. It was placed neatly on his sleeping mat, obviously put there by the bad guys. They had found a single clip inside that showed Callen being whipped, followed by a five second clip of him and Isabella in a cell together, both hurt.

Hetty sat with her arms folded in her lap. Being an agent was hard, but being in charge of other agents was even harder. Every time she sent one of them undercover a small part of her worried that she was sending them to their deaths. She had lost agents before-Dom, and others before NCIS. But if Callen died…she wasn't sure if she would be able to move on. She remained outwardly calm, letting her thoughts remain a mystery to those around her.

Sam was furious. He glared at the screen, hating what he was seeing. He would never admit it, but he did feel slightly protective towards his partner. Probably had a lot to do with him almost dying in his arms, an experience not exactly easy to forget. Since then, their partnership had become even stronger; people around them noticed the complete trust they had in each other, communicating with subtle glances and hand gestures. _I should have had his back _he thought to himself.

Kensi was half turned away from the screen. She didn't want to watch, couldn't bear to watch, but couldn't quite turn away either. It was like a horror movie; you don't want to want to watch, but you can't keep away. She remembered what a great teacher Callen had been when she first came to NCIS. He had been so patient, improving her fighting technique, her surveillance skills, gaining her trust. He had helped form the agent she was today.

Deeks winced as the whip came slicing down on Callen's back. He had always truly admired Callen. He was a brilliant leader, great undercover operative, quick with his gun. Callen might have been slightly aloof when he had first joined NCIS, but he hadn't seemed surprised at Deeks entrance into the team. The two had gotten to know each other better throughout time, and their friendship was one shown through jokes and sarcastic remarks.

Eric stared open-mouthed at the screen. He felt glad that his job as a tech-specialist didn't normally include much violence. He had been part of the original team, before Nell and Deeks had joined. He had been working with them for a long time, but seldom was a case so personal. He wished that he could do something. Anything

Nell's eyes were wide open with shock. She ran through organized lists in her head of possible things she could check on the computer and try to do. She let loose a small gasp as she watched the whip travel down. This was the one thing she hated about her job, having to watch things through a screen and feel powerless to do anything while the field agents went through dangerous tasks.

"Why do you think we were given that clip?" Deeks asked. He seemed subdued, and unlike his usual self.

"Callen would hate to know that we're worrying. The captor probably knows that too, and is trying to use that to break Callen." Kensi replied. Silence followed her comment.

"Eric, who's that woman in the cell with Callen?" Sam asked once he had calmed down.

"We don't know, her files are classified." Replied Eric.

"That woman is Isabella Knight." Hetty announced. "She is a top agent, working for the CIA. I have not had the pleasure of meeting her, and I doubt that Mr. Callen has either. I have heard of her extraordinary talents though. They are much like those of Mr. Callen."

Just then, Nell interrupted. "Um, the director of the CIA is requesting a video conference."

"Then by all means, let us have it." Hetty replied.

The screen flickered, and cut to a video feed of the CIA's director.

"Henrietta" He greeted.

"It is nice to see you again, Malcolm, and we are on the same side this time, are we not."

Kensi, Deeks, and Sam exchanged a glance. Normally, they would joke about how Hetty seemed to know everybody, but they weren't really in the mood to do so today.

The director continued: "Hetty, I'm going to cut straight to the chase. It is not only Special Agents Callen and Knight who have been captured. Eight other elite agents have been captured too. All from different agencies across the US. Right now it can be assumed that they will all be tortured for information. Agents Callen and Knight seem to have been specially targeted with some of the worse…torture methods. They are our best agents and have been trained to hold under interrogation, but if they were to reveal information, the results would be disastrous. That is why a joint task force between all agencies for this case has been suggested. The best from each agency will all work on locating and eventually rescuing these agents. Your director has agreed to this if you will."

"Then you may expect NCIS co-operation. Tell me, if the best people in this business are all working on this, has anything been found yet?"

"I'm afraid not. This man is very careful. But nobody can be perfect. In the meantime, we will all continue searching.

"Very well. I would like information on Agent Knight, there has to be a reason these two agents were paired together."

"You shall have it, Hetty." The screen flickered again, then went off. Everyone in the room felt sick with apprehension. Their faces were strangely symmetrical; lips pressed together, eyes filled with worry, faces drawn. Eric and Nell started fiddling with the computers again, not able to keep still.

"There has to be some kind of technological footprint." Eric muttered under his breath.

Kensi was staring at a picture of the team besides one of the computers. In it, Callen was standing casually next to her. Although their appearances were totally different, Callen still managed to look like her older brother. Deeks was also staring at the picture. His thoughts ran in a similar line to Kensi's. The team all looked like a family in the picture, laughing and having a good time. Sam had his phone out, going over all possible leads, not wanting to let his mind wander to the worrying.

Hetty was hoping that she would not soon have another reason to hand in her resignation. But she could not go about thinking like that. Taking a deep breath, she ordered:

"Mr. Hanna, Ms. Blye, Mr. Deeks, check Mr. Callen's house frequently for any more drop offs of memory devices. Talk to neighbors; see if you can find out who dropped off the memory device. Find the location of where Mr. Callen was taken. You may have done some of this already, but double check everything. Go. Mr. Beale see if you can find out exactly what information this captor might want from Callen. We all know that Callen has plenty of important information, but if we can find any terrorist activity that might be linked to something Mr. Callen knows, we might be close to finding out the identity of this captor. Ms. Jones, you will handle the profiles of all the other agents, which I will get you. Check for anything they might know that will link to something Mr. Callen knows. All the agents have very extensive files, these agents have extensive files, so get our field agents to help you as soon as they come back."

With that, Hetty walked away. Deeks glanced at Kensi and said: "Kens, I know that we have no leads, but at least we're doing something."

Kensi nodded in agreement, and together the three of them headed out to try and save their team leader and friend.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS LA or any of its characters. This goes for all chapters**

**Thank you to my reviewers, ****SilverSentinal21 and ****justdreaming-83 **

**2 hours later**

Callen gasped for breath as he fought his dizziness. The burning in his back pain caused spots to dance in front of his eyes, as he lay sprawled on his stomach across the floor of the cell. He didn't know how long it took, but he eventually managed to push himself into a sitting position. He thought about Isabella remembering their earlier conversation. She had frowned more than smiled, deflected all his questions deftly, like any top operative and had sat as far away from him as possible.

He looked around the cell he was sitting in, eyes darting around, taking in everything. There were no windows, so no way to tell the time. When he was able to make himself move again, Callen began to crawl around the cell, knocking on different spots on the walls, testing their solidity. He clenched his fists and hissed in frustration as he realized that they were reinforced concrete walls, impossible to break even when he was in top shape, let alone in this mess he was in now. Finally, the pain became too much and he slumped down onto the icy cold floor. Feeling like punching the walls, he couldn't fight the memories of his interrogation.

_"Tell me about your latest cases." The captor ordered in a malicious tone. He prowled across the room as he bore his eyes into Callen's. The captor slowly moved behind Callen, staying quiet, with a twisted smile that didn't reach his eyes. Callen hated not knowing what was happening behind him. He twisted his body as much as he could to one side, straining to see what was going on. He gave up with a grunt as he realized that he was too tightly cuffed to be able to turn around enough to see anything. _

_Suddenly, Callen heard the whistling of the whip as it flashed through the air. He arched his back as the shock of the blow hit him__,_

"_No" __Callen said, jutting his chin out._

_"__Your latest cases." The captor repeated__._

_"__No!" Callen forced out between gasps, pain evident in his voice._

_The captor lashed the whip forward, contacting with flesh in a sickening sound, creating horrible cross patterns across Callen's back. _

"_So, your latest case, did it have terrorists in it? Crazy bomb makers? Drug dealers?_

_The answer was on the tip of Callen's tongue, in the front of his mind. It would be so easy to answer, but he couldn't. His primal instincts and sense of duty clashed with each other as the pain seared through his body. Grinding his teeth, he said:_

"_Oh yeah, all three, plus a couple of child traffickers, corrupt cops, and mass murderers."_

_The captor's eyes darkened with anger as he pushed his whole body forward into the next lash, ripping apart skin and causing more blood to flow. He bit his lip and stayed silent, not really trusting himself enough to make another sarcastic remark without giving everything away. __**It wouldn't hurt**__ a dark side of him argued__**. It's just one case, and it wasn't even a really important one.**__ But still he stayed silent. He had sworn in the beginning he wouldn't give anything away, and he wasn't going to go down with so little of a fight. _

_The whipping continued. The captor kept silent for a while. Lash 5…6…7…8…Callen counted mentally. At the ninth lash, the captor spoke again, with a tinge of amusement in his voice, "Oh Agent Callen, need I ask more probing questions? You know what I want, you know what to do."_

_Pain smoldered behind Callen's eyes. As the tenth__th__ lash came down, Callen's knees buckled and his face twisted in pain. His body began involuntarily shivering from shock and pain. Wooziness took over him and he vaguely heard the captor swear before getting dragged into his cell._

_Isabella P.O.V._

Isabella stared into the captor's black eyes. They seemed to echo the black pool of water in the corner of the room, dangerous, but cool and collected. She squared her jaw as she glared at him, determined to not make this easy for him.

She tried to read his eyes, in order to understand what he was thinking. _Don't give in, _she reminded herself. _Giving in will be like killing yourself._

Suddenly she was pushed over to the corner and her head was pushed down underwater, the captor's hands roughly tearing at her hair. In panic, she accidentally let go of some precious air and watched as the bubbles slowly gurgled to the surface. In the rational part of her mind, she knew how she would have three minuets before permanent brain damage set in. But the other part of her simply panicked, resisting desperately, until finally the pressure disappeared and she surfaced, sucking in deep breathes of air. She saw the captor approach her and instinctively tried to shrink away as he reached out with a long, dark baton with electrodes sparking at the end. As the captor jabbed it into her skin, her muscles convulsed and pain reverberated through her body. Before she had a chance to recover, her head was shoved down again. She could hear the voce of the captor, muted through the water, counting down. 1 minuet, 59 seconds, 58 seconds, 57…each second lasted a lifetime as everything slowed down. She wondered why she had never written the kind of letter that would be opened after her death. She guessed it was because she believed that if you had something to say, say it while you're living. But still, she had never properly thanked her teammates, her partner, all the people who worked alongside her everyday, serving their country, risking their lives, risking this kind of situation happening. _Stop it Isabella, you're going crazy." _When she was finally pulled up again she heard the captor saying

"Well, well. You know, drowning is a rather precise method of torture. It deals with fear rather than pain. I thought I'd try this with you, see how it worked…"

The words didn't register in her mind as the baton was swiped across her skin and she became paralyzed for a moment. Then down again. It was like living her own worst nightmare over and over again. A nightmare she had tried so hard to forget. _No, don't think about that. _On and on it went. Up. Zap. Drown. Up. Zap. Drown.

Callen opened his eyes and made the effort to sit up when Isabella was thrown back into their cell. The movement caused the pain to flare up again but he struggled against it, his concern for Isabella fueling his determination Isabella immediately half faced away from him, sitting with her knees to her chest, hands wrapped around her knees, shoulder hunched. "Hey, how's it going?" he asked.

"Great! Missed your sunny smile." Isabella answered, trying desperately to smile, and sound carefree.

Callen smirked, remembering something similar he had once said to Hetty. "You see any ways we can get out of here?" he asked her, careful not to mention the interrogation just yet.

"Yeah. But they all involve getting a gun, which I don't see happening."

Callen took a deep breath, burying the fiery pain and preparing himself for this task he knew he had to do. He normally wasn't one to say things like this but it had to be done for the good of the both.

"Isabella," He said gently, "Look, being trapped in here is going to suck, alright? But, believe me, they'll be even harder if you keep your guard up not just against the captor, but in here as well."

Isabella turned to glare at him, eyes angry and flashing: "So you're asking me to trust you? To let my guard down? As if yours hasn't been up all this time, to!" she practically snarled.

Callen recoiled, He hadn't even realized he was doing it, but she was right. "I am sorry about that," he said honestly. He paused for a second, "You okay?"

Isabella looked slightly surprised at this sudden change of subject. "Well, I could be better," She grudgingly admitted.

It wasn't a completely honest answer, but it was better than the abrupt answers earlier on. A thought suddenly hit her as she turned to face Callen.

_Shoot_, she thought, _how could I be so stupid_? Here he was asking after her and she didn't even know how his wounds were looking. True, he wasn't showing any extreme signs of pain, but being a trained federal agent, she knew better than that.

"Let me see your back," She ordered, grabbing the medical kit the captor had thrown in after her and not really caring if she sounded rude.

Callen raised an eyebrow but turned. Isabella examined the wounds. This was going to hurt him, but it would go faster if she could keep him calm and still. Talking to him might help. She began to talk as she tore open the package of the first wipes and started to clean the wounds. "Right well, this is going to sting."

Callen laughed: "That's like when doctors say you'll feel a little pinch, then cut open a huge hole in you."

"Sounds like you have quite some experience with doctors." Isabella said, as she smiled, remembering her own experiences with various doctors.

"Yeah. My doctor, Doctor Richardson told me I'm under strict orders not to let him see me in a hospital for at least two more months."

Isabella laughed, "That's pretty impossible!"

"абсолютно правильно" (Absolutely correct)

"Russian?" Isabella raised her eyebrows, surprised. "How did you learn that?"

"A little girl in a foster home taught me," Callen replied softly. A shield passed over his face and he leaned back slightly away from Isabella.

She wasn't sure how to reply, so she didn't, instead just concentrating on cleaning the last wound. When she was done, she gently took him by the shoulders and spun him around. As much as she didn't want to admit it, he was right. It would be a lot easier for the captor to break them if they were tense 24/7. Well, she wasn't going to get sucked into the captor's little game.

"I have some bad childhood memories about drowning. My parents often sent me off to my grandmother, and she was horribly strict. Do anything wrong and she'd stick my head underwater for ages. I can control my fear of it now, but its still a bad thing for me." Isabella swallowed as she finished. She deliberately relaxed her hand, realizing that she had dug her fingernails deeply into her palm while talking

Callen listened, then reached out for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, then let go. He appreciated her telling him, and the physical contact was his own little way of saying thank you.

Callen estimated it to be around fifteen hours later the captor came on. Callen actually felt a strange kind of relief when he saw the screen light up. The wait itself for something to happen had almost been worse than the torture itself. He simply said: "Round two," then shut off.

The video' s started again. It was much, much worse this time. Skin was sliced, bones were broken, and faces were burned. At the sixth agent, the captor picked up a huge, sharp, pointed knife and smiled cruelly. "Do you have anyone you love, Agent Michaels?"

"Sure, not that I would ever tell you about them," the agent replied, fiercely glaring at the captor.

"Tell me her name, Agent Michaels."

"Look psycho, I've already told you, it's not happening."

The captor grabbed the knife, drove it into the agent's upper arm and pulled it down lightning fast all the way to his palm. The agent screamed in pain and surprise.

Callen shivered. He fought off a wave of nausea as the captor repeated the motion first across the agent's chest, then his thigh. Blood stained the agent's muscular body, streaming from the cuts. As the torture continued on screen, Callen felt a cold hand touch his shoulder. He wheeled around, prying the hand away from him, tense, about to attack. Instead, he stared into the swirling mists of Isabella's eyes. Since the moment they met, her eyes had been closed and guarded, but they weren't now. They contained so much sadness, more than Callen had ever seen in somebody's face. He realized he was gripping Isabella's wrist too tightly, and slowly let go.

"You know, you really should refrain from touching agent's like that, it kind of startles them," Callen said trying to joke, wanting to chase away the sadness in her eyes.

Isabella didn't even smile. "It might startle them, but it also reminds them they're not alone," Isabella said quietly, her voce full of sadness.

Callen wondered if there was a story behind the action, for her eyes to contain so much sadness." Thank you," he said simply. Then he reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. Seeing she was confused, he explained, "You're not alone either, Isabella," he said, his voice soft and gentle.

This time some of the sadness did leave her eyes. "Thank you," she said with a tiny smile.

A horrible groan interrupted them. As they glanced up, they were shocked to see that he agent had received many more cuts during the time they had been talking. His whole body had terrible trails of red running across it. As the captor raised the knife once again, the agent's eyes widened and he looked terrified.

"Stop...I'll tell you whatever you want to know, just stop!" Agent Michaels whimpered.

Callen and Isabella shared a glance. _No, no no no no_ running through Callen's mind. _He can't give up, he can't._

The captor laughed, then walked over to a table and pressed a button. Instantly, the video was muted. "Why do you think the captor muted the video?" Isabella asked.

Callen shrugged. "Thinks that if we know what information he wants to know, we'll have an advantage? That we'll come closer to figuring out who he is? Both of those reasons? I honestly don't know.":

Callen and Isabella watched for a few minuets as the exchange of information continued. Then, suddenly, the captor whipped a gun out and shot the agent twice, once in the head, once in the heart; after that, the screen went blank

Silence echoed through the room. Callen and Isabella were both too shocked to say or do anything. Their eyes met, and somehow they both understood the other's unwillingness to talk about what had just occurred.

The room was still for a few more minuets, then Isabella said: "So, that little girl who taught you Russian, what was she like?"

Surprise, then understanding, flickered across Callen's face. His face lost some of its grieved expression as he though of more joyful times. "Sweetest little girl I ever met. She was clever, too. She loved rope skipping, and went everywhere with her blue and pink rope. "I was fourteen at the time, and she was four. She liked to pretend that it was the opposite, though. She gave me this little book, and would put a sticker in it every time I mastered a phrase in Russian. She loved playing teacher." Callen said, laughing a little.

"Do you still keep in contact?"

Callen shook his head, a cloud passing over his eyes. "She died a while ago."

"I'm sorry."

Callen nodded, accepting the sympathy. "What about you?" he asked, "What's your family like?"

"What, aside from my crazy grandmother?" Isabella joked.

"Mmmhmm."

"Well, I'm an only child. I'm pretty close to both my parents, but I was always Daddy's girl. I mean, I love my mom; she and I get along really well, kind of like sisters. But I always truly admired my dad. He seemed to know some things about everything. Going to museums with him, he would know about all the exhibitions, know the history of everything in there. He had a point of view about everything. I was always with him, learning from him. I miss being able to be completely honest with him, now that I'm an agent." The idyllic smile that had lit up her face began to fade with the last sentence.

"You're lucky to have a close family. Most agents I know don't." Callen said with a touch on envy.

"Yeah. Most people who become agents have had something go terribly wrong in their lives, haven't they? Maybe I'll tell you about what went wrong in mine, someday." Isabella said, noticing his envy. _My life hasn't exactly been perfect, either. _

They were literally locked together in hell. Locked in a terrible nightmare. And yet, out of that, there slowly was an incredible bond forming between the two agents. A bond closer than anything either of them had ever experienced before.


	5. Chapter 5

"As I said before this is round two Agent Callen." The captor said as he entered, slamming the door behind him. "I have to say, I really must hurry things along now, as I am becoming extremely impatient."

The captor glowered at Callen, hate radiating from his eyes. The man in front of him symbolized all he wanted to destroy. If his plans succeeded, he would be able to become the most feared terrorist ever. Probably the richest terrorist as well, if that was what he wanted, but he didn't really care about the money. He simply wanted to damage America, damage the country that had damaged his childhood, his life. He would soon become the terrorist with wells of knowledge. The terrorist with the best agents…

Callen was sitting on a steel chair, hands and feet tied. The captor motioned to the two thugs standing by the door. The thugs came over and started kicking, flipping the chair over onto the ground. They laid into him, punching, slapping, and kicking. He hated not being able to protect himself, feeling frustrated and helpless as the pain continued to fall upon him. The thugs wore sadistic smiles on their faces. When it finally stopped Callen felt a sharp pain from his ribs, his head was pounding, in fact every inch of his body was screaming in pain.

The captor smiled. "I see that you're still playing the part of the brave agent. Well the, I guess we'll have to crank things up a notch."

As he spoke, the captor picked up a hot poker and swung it towards Callen, pressing it down on his stomach. Callen bit down on his lip, hard, causing himself to bleed. He was given a minute to recover, before: "I don't really care about your latest cases anymore, agent Callen. Today, I want to know about any…weaknesses NCIS has. Let's concentrate on your team for now. Who is the weakest link, Agent Callen? What would happen if I stuck a knife in, oh let's say, little Nell? Would Mr. Beale still be able to function, or would you lose all your technical advantages?" The tone the captor used made Callen's skin crawl. He glared at the captor, who chuckled and said, "So does this particular kind of brain trick not work on you Agent Callen? Well, we have plenty of time to find out what does." Then, the burning stick or fire was used on him again. In the end, after ten minutes, it finally stopped.

Callen was covered in blood and grime. His body was shaking involuntarily. But despite all that, Callen managed to croak out, "I think I see a pattern here. You took Isabella and held her down under water ten times, shocked her ten times. You gave me ten lashes and now ten burns." Callen paused to breath in and smirked. "I can't quite seem to fit the beating in. Did that last for ten minutes?

The captor laughed. "Oh, that it did, Agent Callen. You should be glad, I was quite tempted to make it fifteen."

Once Callen was back in his cell, he began mentally taking stock of his injuries. The burns were agonizing, looking red and angry. He desperately pressed them against the cold walls, but the burns began smoldering again in just seconds. He closed his eyes and lost control of his body for a moment as he felt pain reverberate through him. He dropped to the floor. His body automatically started curling up into a fetal position.

With a strangled shout, Callen somehow managed to sit up again. His eyes were bloodshot, there was a huge crease between his eyes, and he was breathing heavily. This was worse than he had thought. He wondered how much he could hold on…

However bad Callen's current condition was. Isabella was worse. "Ah, Agent Knight." The captor said, letting a single drip of sarcasm stain his words. Isabella glared at him as she thought of all the things she would do to him if she managed to get hold of a gun. Isabella's arms were laid flat out on the white metal table, held there by cuffs. The room had a two-story tall ceiling; a rope looped through the cuffs and hung around a ceiling pipe, then had its other end disappear into the floor. The rope was slack and of no use for now, but Isabella was sure that it would come into play soon enough.

The captor laughed at her. "Oh Agent Knight…such silent hostility! Enough chit-chat, we must get along with our work." With those words, the captor casually picked up a knife and began twirling it, like a bored businessman would do with a pencil.

"Were you the depressed, moody kind of teenager, Agent Knight? Did you ever cut yourself?" The captor asked casually as he made three deep, identical incisions on Isabella's arm. Isabella winced but didn't make a sound. As the captor moved onto the other arm, he said, "Hmm, I don't quite see it." He once again carved three slashes on her other arm. Isabella jerked back automatically, a shudder passing through her body. Don't tense your muscles, she reminded herself. That'll just cause you more pain. She forced herself to stare calmly at the captor when he suddenly grinned and made two slashes on each of her arms. She couldn't help it. She screamed. The captor smirked, "Two more, agent Isabella."

_Two more…_Isabella found herself close to giving in._ Just hurry up and get it over with, _she begged the captor silently. _Just let this pain end. _She didn't want to have to be brave, to have to stand up to this torture anymore. It had begun with the drowning, but this cutting was really beginning to show the cracks in her. She hated this slow torture, this slow building up of pain. She screamed again as the last two cuts came down in quick succession.

The captor shook his head. "Such a loud, disruptive noise." He chided. Without any warning, he whipped out his gun and shot her in the shoulder. Isabella's body jerked back as the bullet tore through her skin, and then in rapid succession, her body got yanked up until she was dangling by the high ceiling pipe. Then without a second's stop, she was dropped, landing on her leg with a sickening crunch. A wave of nausea overtook her as the captor summoned the two thugs to take her back to her cell. As she left, the captor called, "Oh, be sure to show Agent Callen the number of cuts you have. I'm positive that he'll appreciate the irony."

She immediately noticed how weak Callen looked. She slowly limped over to Callen, keeping all her weight on her good leg, dragging her broken one behind her. She leaned against the wall, and then began slowly sliding herself down.

"God, Isabella, are you all right?" Callen said wide eyed as he saw the mess Isabella was in.

She laughed, it was a weak pathetic sound.

"Yeah, I know that you're probably not. Have you checked your injuries? Do you know how bad you're hurt?" Callen asked with a tender tone.

Isabella nodded. "Gunshot wound to the shoulder. Broken leg also bruised and cut badly. Ten cuts on my arms. Whole lot of blood loss."

"Ten! That guy has a sick sense of humor." Callen said, attempting not to let the horror show in his voice.

"He said that you would get it. What about you? What did he do this time?"

"Beating, burns. Nothing as bad as you." The two of them had decided to give up lying about the gravity of their injuries. It was pretty much pointless, since they were both trained to be human lie detectors. The captor entering interrupted their conversation. They both immediately tensed, Callen getting up on his feet with a slight struggle, Isabella trying to do the same, but giving up with a groan. The captor gave a harsh laugh.

"Relax, I don't quite plan on killing you yet. There shall be time for that later on. My little visit here has quite the opposite purpose." He said as he threw two large Ziploc bags towards Callen before turning on the balls of his feet and leaving.

Callen tore open the bags and felt relieved to find a first aid kit as well as food and water. His eyes met with Isabella's as he said as calmly as he could

"I'm going to have to splint your leg." He told her as calmly as he could. "It's the best we can do until when we can get a doctor to set it properly."

"Yeah, I don't think its so much a matter of _when _I get to see a doctor than _if _I ever get to see a doctor." Isabella snapped. She didn't know why she was acting like this; she knew that Callen was only trying to help. But she couldn't help it, all she could think about what the pain, and here he was telling her she would have to face even more of it. "We're totally defenseless against a madman who could kill us at any moment. I got a bullet through my shoulder; he could have put it through my heart." He words tumbled over each other, her thoughts in turmoil. All she could concentrate on was getting away from the pain.

Callen tried to approach her, but Isabella screamed, "LEAVE ME ALONE!" as she tried to scramble back into a corner.

Callen ignored this as he came closer. Isabella glared at him. He reached out a hand, "Isabella, you have to let me-"

"No!" Isabella swung her fist upwards, catching Callen on the jaw. _Oh god, what have I done?" _she thought frantically as she saw Callen's shocked expression. She didn't know where the punch had come from, but her anger started to deflate as she saw the bruise start to rise up on Callen's jaw. She heard someone sobbing, and it took her a minute to realize it was her. _Why did I punch him? He's hurt bad enough already. I know from experience that he'll be wary of me from now on; he'll stay away. _To her surprise, she felt strong arms envelop her, carefully staying away from her wounds. She didn't analyze it, just rest her head against his chest and let herself sob. 

"Isabella, look at me." She heard Callen say. She looked up, and saw at once that his blue eyes were blazing with determination.

"Don't talk like that." Callen said fiercely. "This is exactly what the captor is trying to get you to feel. I know it seems like we've been here a lifetime, but it's only been two days, give our teams some time. We've got medical supplies here, he's not planning in killing us anytime soon."

Isabella's vision was beginning to blur again, her concentration wavering. However, she had heard Callen and knew that he was right. "Sorry," she muttered with a sigh.

Callen nodded and gently ran his hands through her hair, soothing her. He now felt glad about the first aid course Hetty had made him attend. She had held up so far, but was beginning to show signs of shock. Cold, clammy skin, lethargy, agitation. He checked for any signs that her lungs had suffered injury and was relieved not to find any. Isabella had been keeping pressure on the wound, but her grip was getting weaker along with her exhaustion and he took over, meanwhile creating a makeshift sling and pressure bandage with the materials in the first aid kit.

Isabella felt unconsciousness threaten to overwhelm her as pain racked up her shoulder. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself not to let her instincts take over and knock Callen away. Another wave of pain came as Callen's hand shifted slightly on her shoulder. This time, she couldn't fight it and fell into unconsciousness. As she fell into the darkness, she felt a familiar and hated nightmare take hold of her…

_She was in the middle of a battlefield, marching together with a big group of soldiers. Suddenly, a goddess appeared in front of them, and they all stopped in their tracks, staring open-mouthed at her. She was beautiful, long electric blue dress, silky black hair, and war in her eyes. There was a little boy with her, holding a bow and arrow that crackled with electricity. And, somehow, they all just knew that anyone who came in contact with the arrow would die immediately. _

"_Pick five of them and shoot them." The goddess ordered the little boy._

_Panic and desperation surged through them all. It was a panic she had never known before, and her only thoughts were don't pick me. Don't. As she tried to blend in, tried to do anything she could to escape this._

_The little boy raised his bow and held power in his hands. Hysteria and confusion overpowered them. Trepidation and dread stripped away their bravery. The boy raised pulled the bowstring and stared her straight in the eye…_

Isabella blinked as she slowly woke up. She instantly saw the relief in Callen's face. "Oh thank god you woke up Isabella," Callen whispered as he stared down into her face. Isabella slowly blinked again as the pain and the memories of the last two days came rushing back to her. Her leg was now splinted, and her arm in a neat bandage. At least it doesn't look as scary, she thought to herself.

"I'm okay," she told Callen. "Well, as okay as I can be, but you can stop looking so concerned. Callen still didn't look convinced, so she sighed and changed the subject.

"Think we'll be given a few days to recover?"

"I hope so." Callen replied.

He tried to mask his worry. He had been terrified that she wouldn't wake up, that she would drift into a coma. For hours he had take care of her injuries with the limited supplies that he had, stayed by her side, and hoped for the best. He didn't think that he had ever been so worried about somebody else before, but seeing her lying there in this cold cell with a pale face and ever so subtle rise and fall of her chest, something had changed in him. A new determination to make sure that they both got out of this alive. _You normally only care this much about somebody if they're on your team. _He told himself. _What changed?"_ He thought back to the last few days. If he considered it carefully, this new feeling had probably begun when she first started to trust him. When she had talked about her grandmother, determined to start the trust between the two of them, knowing it would help. She had looked so vulnerable, but so strong, and so beautiful. He remembered her hair tangled around her face, eyes flashing with so many emotions. She had looked…beautiful.

There was a short silence before the conversation restarted.

"Isabella, I know I've asked you this before, but we can't just keep on waiting. Do you think there's any chance we can escape?"

"I don't mean to be a grouch, but, well, no. Even if we managed to knock out those thugs, this place is enclosed in strong metal everywhere. Plus the captor has set up security camera's in every single corner of this place."

"Then I guess our best hope is our teams finding us. We have no idea what security measures this guy has in place though. He could have lasers surrounding the outside that we don't know about. This is why I hate these situations, our teams could get blown to pieces trying to save us."

Isabella shuddered at the thought and rested her head on Callen's shoulder, snuggling in slightly. She was starting to feel slightly faint. Callen's arm came around to rest on her good shoulder. The movement caused them both pain, but the need for comfort was greater than the pain. They fit perfectly together and both chose to concentrate on that instead of everything else around them.


End file.
